


The Curious Case of the Silver Locket

by heavy_cream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Crossover, M/M, Magic, Potterlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavy_cream/pseuds/heavy_cream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started, as things tended to in Lestrade's life, with murder.</p><p>She was lovely even in death, ethereal with the blueish hue corpses tended to get after a certain time. She looked like an exquisite doll, slightly slumped to a side, wearing a delicate pink dress with frills and lace and ribbons. There was a matching bow pinned to her hair, a long fall of blond curls. Her brown eyes were wide open, in one hand she still held the saucer of the cup she'd probably be drinking from but which had fallen onto the floor, rolling away a few feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of the Silver Locket

**Author's Note:**

> Woefully unbetaed. 
> 
> CC greatly appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> **IT'S CANON COMPLIANT**
> 
>  
> 
> This is a still very heavy WIP, and things might change as I write since it's really a half baked idea that suddenly grew a plot. Tags, characters and warnings will be added with future chapters.
> 
> For more (and potentially spoilery) notes, please read at the end.

In hindsight, Lestrade should have figured it out sooner than he did. In his defense, he did suspect about John, but how was he supposed to go and ask him when the man had clearly made a huge effort to hide it? 

Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't really understand it himself, they weren't that different, he and John, and perhaps it was that odd kinship that made him keep silent. Well, that and because after Sherlock's fall, he kept wondering why John didn't stop it and maybe there was a lot more to the story than he could deduce.

In the end, his sensible approach didn't even matter because things came to a head regardless and afterwards, he and John knew more about each other than they were really comfortable with but it couldn't be helped because when things happened in _their world_ , it tended to involve everybody.

It all started, as things tended to in Lestrade's life, with murder.

Gower Street 59 looked like any other house from the outside, but when Lestrade stepped inside he let out a short whistle of surprise. Within it was one of the few properties in London that hadn't been turned into flats, and had instead kept it's original one-house layout. The furnishings were old, but well cared for in a way that made them look homely instead of expensive. There was an opulence found usually only in country houses of Lords and Ladies nowadays, with thick carpets and long curtains, portraits and landscapes adorning walls, chandeliers in the living and dining room. Rows and rows of bookcases and heavy mirrors. 

Lestrade went upstairs, the second floor sectioned into a library-slash-study and a bedroom with an en-suite lavatory. The decor continued there as well. The bedroom was large and probably cheerful if circumstances were any different. The large windows brightened up the room so it didn’t feel cramped even with the large four poster bed in it. The frilly bed-sheets that matched the curtains in colour, and was clearly not slept in. There was a small desk in one corner, on the other side was a vanity, and in front of the bed was a lovely large fire place. On one side of it, was an armchair with a small table next to it. 

That’s where she was as well.

She was lovely even in death, ethereal with the blueish hue corpses tended to get after a certain time. She looked like an exquisite doll, slightly slumped to a side, wearing a delicate pink dress with frills and lace and ribbons. There was a matching bow pinned to her hair, a long fall of blond curls. Her brown eyes were wide open, in one hand she still held the saucer of the cup she'd probably be drinking from but which had fallen onto the floor, rolling away a few feet.

The entire scene felt like a set in a play.

"What a bloody shame," Greg said without thinking and heard a sigh from behind him.

"Yeah, really nice diggings here," Donovan replied and stopped to stand next to him.

"What have we got then?" Greg asked Anderson who was already there, taking notes while the rest of the SOCO’s moved about taking pictures, dusting and printing and bagging and tagging.

"Caucasian female, blonde, brown eyed, between twenty and thirty years I'd say, of average height and build."

"I think she's probably a bit under the average build," Greg said moving around the room. Anderson frowned.

"What makes you say that?"

"That dress she's wearing, that's a lot of layers there, including a thick corset. She is skinny for her age."

Anderson exchanged a look with Donovan and poked the girl's midriff, felt the stiff garment underneath. "Alright, of slim built then. She's been dead for ten to twelve hours tops."

"Cause of death?" Greg asked leaning over her taking a closer look. The doll-like image increased with the glassy look in her eyes.

"None apparent. You'll have to wait until I get her on the table."

"Get a full tox on her as well, see if someone doctored her tea." Anderson nodded and then motioned for the team to get ready for transport. 

"What do we know?" He asked Donovan and walked towards the desk to inspect it, sliding on gloves as he did. There were two notebooks, one served as a day-planner, the other held some sort of accounting with balancing expenses and incomes; a couple of fountain pens and a half empty ink bottle. A few sheets of papers, assorted mail, a few receipts weighed down with a round, glass paperweight. The drawer when opened was empty except for a stray piece of string in a corner. 

"Her name is Elisa Fairweather, age 27, no siblings or parents, owns a flower shop somewhere on Bury Place."

"Who found her?"

"Her friend, Ms. Holly Hopwood. Apparently she got a call from the shop assistant who was worried when Fairweather didn't show up or answer her calls. Hopwood came over to check things out, let herself in with a spare key and found the body, called emergencies, etc etc."

"Have you talked to her yet?"

"Briefly, she was really shaken, kept spacing out. Here's the thing though," Sally added and he turned at the change of her voice. "She says the door was locked."

"Yeah you said."

"No, I mean, the bedroom door was locked, from the inside."

Greg blinked. "Huh. How did she get in?"

"The key she has is a master. Found the bedroom key on the bedside table." Greg turned to look where she was pointing and frowned.

"She lived alone, right?"

Sally nodded. "According to Hopwood, yes."

"Who locks their bedroom door when they live alone," Greg wondered, opened the book on the bedside table, marked on page 145, poetry by the looks of it. Aside from the key and a lamp there was nothing else. The drawer there revealed what he referred as 'lady things'. Hair stuff, combs, mirror, a plush, little empty bags, boxes with cheap jewelry.

"Beats me, but I got the sense from Hopwood that this wasn't usual."

"I'd say. Next of kin?" Lestrade asked going through the small vanity now. There was hair brush and some make up on the table, a kind of pocket mirror, creams, tissues. More of the same in the drawers plus accessories. One drawer contained solely nail-polishes and lipsticks. He rubbed his neck and frowned.

"She was brought up by an aunt, who lives somewhere in Devon."

"Alright, has she been informed yet?"

"Still trying to find a number."

"Let me know how that goes. Have the SOCOs found anything of interest so far?" he asked opening the closet going through it haphazardly, everything looked ordinary enough. He moved on to the fireplace.

"Not really. There were no signs of break in or forced entry anywhere."

"This place got an attic right?"

Sally blinked. "Yeah, how did you know?"

Greg shrugged, and trailed his hands over the various items on the mantelpiece. "These kind of places usually do. They tend to get converted into flats, but this house still has the original layout," he picked up a small ornate box, found it empty, placed it back on it's place.

"They haven't gone through all of it yet, but they checked the window up there too. Latched tight and has been for a while."

Lestrade pulled off his gloves, stuffed them in his coat pocket and turned around in the room again, rubbed his neck one more time. 

"Are you okay?" Sally asked and Greg grunted.

"Something's bugging me. How did the killer leave?"

"Through the window would be my guess."

Greg shook his head. "Have the SOCOs check for it, but the frame on the outside is dusty, doesn't look like anybody touched it. Besides we are on the second floor, he'd need a ladder or risk breaking something serious when jumping out. This whole scene doesn't make any sense," Greg suddenly said frustrated.

"Why would she lock her door?"

"Maybe she was scared. She locked everything up and then came to were she felt the safest."

"And she made herself some tea and sat next to the fireplace to be there afraid?"

"Loads of people calm down with a cuppa, sir."

"And sit in a chair facing away from the door while they quiver with fear? I don't think so," he shook his head, stared at the chair. "What was she doing sitting there anyway?"

"Sir?"

"There is no book on the table, no phone, no radio in this room."

"So?"

"So she was just sitting there, next to the fireplace, staring at the window, drinking tea? Contemplating life?"

"It's not impossible," Sally said and sounded like she didn't believe it herself. Greg gave her a level look.

"How many times have you curled up on a chair with a good nothing and a cup of tea?"

Sally made a face. "Okay fine it doesn't make any sense."

Greg turned in a circle, spread out his arms. "None of this smells like fear to me. If you are going to lock yourself up in your room you take a weapon, you have anything at hand you think you can defend yourself with. A knife, a cricket bat, scissors, a bloody frying pan. This looks relaxed, like a nice evening at home, unwinding after a long day, with a cuppa."

"She still had her shoes on," Sally remarked. "Those are the first things I kick off when I get home. Jacket, scarf, shoes."

Greg rubbed his chin. "Yeah, you walk around in your house in slippers. Have we found any slippers?"

"Down stairs. Maybe she'd just gotten home."

"Yeah, we need to track her movements. Lets go talk to Hopwood."

They left the room and went back to first floor into the kitchen where they found Hopwood and a female officer sitting at the table. At Lestrade's nod, the officer excused herself. Holly looked at them, her dark skin pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She was clutching a glass of water like her life depended on it.

"Holly, how are you feeling?" Sally asked, her voice kind and Greg was reminded that sometimes his Sergeant could be kind.

"Awful, god," she pressed her hands against her eyes. "This doesn't feel real."

Sally patted her shoulder and then gestured towards Lestrade. "This Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"I'm very sorry for your loss Ms. Hopwood. I know it's hard but I need to ask you a few questions." He sat down when she nodded. "Can you tell me, what happened this morning? You got a call from Ms. Fairweather's assistant?"

"Yes, Charlie, well, Carlos Bell really. He texted me first, but I didn't see the message until he called me."

"What time was this?" 

"Ah, the message he sent at half past seven. I was showering didn't hear the phone. He called me around eight asked me if I knew if anything had happened to Elisa. I asked why and he said it was because she hadn't been at the shop yet. Elisa, her shop is her life, you know? And she'd always open really early, to work on the arrangements and have them ready for delivery."

"What time did she usually go to the shop?"

"She's the first one there, before seven which is when Charlie starts his shift. As a rule she was the one to open, unless she had an errand or something, then Charlie would do it, but she always let him know beforehand."

"Okay, so Charlie called you."

"Yeah, and he was worried, he's a worrier," she said with a short-lived smile and then looked back at the water in her hands. "I told him I didn't know anything, and he asked if I could go and look into her place, just to make sure everything was alright." She stopped then and her breath hitched as tears rolled down her cheeks. Greg took out his handkerchief, handed it over.

"I rolled my eyes," Holly continued after she'd blown her nose. "I rolled my eyes at him, I thought 'here he goes', but her place is really close to where I work. So I thought I could just as well hop out of the tube a station earlier. I thought, if I add those couple of blocks to my routine, I could have a muffin for breakfast. I'd coax Eli into it, guilt trip her into coming with me." She teared up again. "I was thinking about breakfast while she was here-"

"It's alright," Sally said when she broke off again and patted her hand. "You didn't know, there is nothing for you to feel guilty about."

Holly nodded and played with the handkerchief. "Anyway, I came by and just let myself in."

"You didn't ring first?"

"Ah no, not really. We kind of just, barged into each other places. She has a key to my place too, and we kind of just walk in and out of our houses. We used to be roommates and the habit kind of stuck when we moved out."

"Alright, then what?"

"I came in, called out. Said something dumb like 'better be decent, I'm coming up' or something like that, I don't know. I went up and saw her bedroom door closed, so I thought maybe she'd overslept, but when I tried to open it, it was locked. I knocked, and then I used my key to open it." She was quiet for a moment, tugged at the fabric in her hands. "I got this really bad feeling right there, and then I saw the cup on the floor and I guess I sort of knew something was wrong. I'm not sure what I did then, I went to her, I don't know if I touched her. I leaned over but, I don't know. I don't know," she repeated.

"That's alright don't worry about it. Did you call the police then?"

"Yeah. I think I ran out of the room and I called. I don't think I made any sense. I don't know what I said."

"You didn't touch anything in the room then?" Greg asked to bring her focus back. She shook her head and wiped her cheeks.

"No, I just, I walked in, maybe I touched the chair? I don't know, but once I saw- once I saw her, I just ran. I just ran downstairs and left her there."

"Ms. Hopwood," Greg spoke and waited until she looked at him, "you did good, you did the right thing, believe me."

Her lip quivered but she nodded. "Then I just sat there and waited until the police came."

"Do you know if something was troubling her? Did anybody threaten her?"

"No, never. She would have said, she would have told me if anybody was bothering her. We talked yesterday, she asked me for a recipe, and we kind of chatted for a bit. We were going to go for coffee later this week. Catch up a bit."

"You were very close."

"Yeah. She was my best friend."

"How did you meet?"

"At a friends wedding actually. She'd done all the flower arrangements and we got to chatting at the party. I told her how I had been fired recently and had to give up my flat. I'd been rooming with my brother but, you know, he was married with a newborn at the time., while I found a cheaper place to live. A couple of weeks later she called me and told me that her roommate was moving out and asked me if I'd be interested in sharing. Was supposed to be temporary but we just got on so well. Even after I got a new job and could afford a place on my own, we both could, we just stayed together. But then she got this place and I was dating someone very seriously at the time, so we took it as a sign."

"When you say she got this place..."

"Oh, this house belonged to her aunt. It had been leased but when the time ran out on it, she gave it to Elisa. It's a lovely place."

"Her aunt hasn't been living here for a while then?"

"Oh, years. I've known Elisa almost a decade, and her aunt hasn't been around since before that."

Greg nodded. "Alright, thank you very much Ms. Hopwood. If anything comes to mind, anything at all, no matter how little or insignificant, call me. Any time of day and night," Greg said standing up and gave her his card. She took it with both hands and just stared at it for a moment.

"I think she was maybe going to see someone," she looked up and bit her lip. "She didn't say anything, she wasn't dating anybody, but I think maybe she was planning on meeting with someone."

"Why would you say that?"

"She asked me for that recipe, fancy pasta," she smiled a bit, "she didn't bother with fancy food when it came to just her." She shrugged. Greg thanked her again and walked out straight onto the street.

"No enemies, no problems, happy as can be," Sally said once outside.

"Yeah well somebody wanted her dead," Greg replied and check his watch. "Stay here and go through her room again, see if you find any clue on that possible visitor."

"You think he's real?"

"I think we have to check out if he or she exists. Get the number for the aunt and let her know about her niece. Find out if there's an inheritance or anything. Keeping a place like this needs money. Maybe the aunt was loaded."

"Gotcha. What about Charlie?"

"I'll go talk to him, gonna check out the shop while I'm at it. Let me know if the SOCOs find anything. Also, go back and ask Holly if there is anybody else Elisa was close to. Old school friends or something."

"Okay, why?" Sally asked frowning.

"Didn't you notice," Greg nodded towards the house, "there were no pictures in that house. Not a single photograph."

"No electronics either."

Greg paused, cocked his head to a side. "Laptop?"

Sally shook her head. "No laptop, no cellphone, no tellie. Kinda weird."

"Yeah, it is." Greg tapped his thigh with a finger absently and looked back at the house and wondered. 

***

Carlos Bell, was a fifty year old man with a heart of gold and thumbs of green. He wasn't surprised to see Lestrade, and went immediately to the door to lock it and turn around the 'open' sign. He was the size of a small mountain, with weathered skin, big calloused hands, and oddly enough a public school accent. 

"You have bad news."

"I'm sorry to tell you that Ms. Elisa Fairweather was found dead in her house, this morning."

Carlos closed his eyes, took a deep breath and folded his hands together. He bowed his head and Lestrade thought that the man was perhaps sending out a prayer. 

"I knew something was wrong when she didn't come in. I've worked for Ms. Elisa for ten years, and not once has been late without letting me know first. Please, come into the back," Carlos spoke calmly but even so Lestrade could hear the grief seep through. He was led into a room with long benches on each side and one in the middle. The ones on the sides were covered in potted flowers and plants. The one in the middle was apparently a working station. Carlos gestured towards one of the stools, Lestrade shook his head.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"At the moment we are following several lines of inquiry, Mr. Bell."

"Please, call me Charlie. Is there anything you can tell me? Was there a break in?"

"Not as far as we can ascertain at the moment. We are still uncertain about her cause of death. I need to know, Charlie, did she have any enemies?"

Carlos smiled and spread his wide hands. "She worked with flowers, Inspector. How many enemies could she possibly have."

"Personal life? Any angry boyfriends? Girlfriends?"

He shook his head. "No, not that I know off. She was always cheerful, she said she couldn't sulk around the flowers because she would make them sad. She said she'd always have to be the best for her flowers." He looked around and sighed. "Ms. Elisa didn't hold grudges, Inspector. She didn't get into fights."

"You said, you've known her for ten years."

He nodded. "Yes, almost ever since she opened her shop. She needed someone who could handle the books but also work with the flowers. It was perfect for me, retirement was driving me mad and this was something I've always loved."

Lestrade raised his brows. "Retirement?"

Carlos smiled. "I'm an economist, Inspector. I had some very good investments, some great enterprises. I was lucky and quit while I was still ahead. After my wife passed away, there was little reason for… well, anything really. I retired young."

"And then you became a florist."

"I was always a florist, Inspector, I just never worked as one. Ms. Elisa needed help book keeping, which I could do well enough, and she was willing to teach me what I didn't know. This last decade, I've been happier than I thought I'd ever be. After Nora..." he trailed off. 

"Can you tell me about Elisa's friends?"

"Oh, I don't know many, just Ms. Holly to be honest. She never talked about school I don't think she ever went to University either. She talked about some friends she knew from her time up north."

"Up north?"

"I don't know where, but she used to live in Scotland I think. Talked a bit about the weather and the fauna, that's why I know. I think it slipped out. In any case, I never got her to elaborate much on that and well, it wasn't really my business."

Greg frowned. "I see. How is the business?"

"Blooming," Carlos said and smiled at his own pun. "In all seriousness, the shop is doing more than alright. A few good deals with our suppliers, good location, good prices and quality and mostly we didn't try to bite off more than we could chew. We have a niche market, of herbs and spices, they are highly sought for."

"Really? Who'd have thought," Greg said and carefully watched the other man, but he just shrugged his massive shoulders.

"I was surprised myself but Ms. Elisa knew what she was doing."

"Do you know who would have anything to gain with her death?"

Carlos shook his head and looked at his hands. "I have no idea. I don't even know what will happen to the shop. I don't even know if she had anything settled for this. We always assumed it would be, the first to go. She was so young."

"Yeah, she was. I'm sorry but, did she have an office here?"

"Yes, it's just to the side, let me take you there."

Greg stood up and his phone rang. He looked at the number and bit back a sigh.

"Excuse me Mr. Bell, I have to take this." 

"Sure, I'll be in the front," he excused himself and Lestrade answered his phone.

“Greg-”

“John, I'm kind of busy right-"

"I know. I need to talk to you about Elisa Fairweather."

**Author's Note:**

> This really all happened because of my headcanon of Lestrade being a Hufflepuff and looking adorable in Quidditch robes and what should have been a PWP turned into this really heavy plotty thing.
> 
> I blame K for enabling my late night chats.
> 
> Potentially spoilery notes:  
> -AU in the sense that BBC Sherlock and the HP universe are one and the same, but it is intended to be fully canon compliant with both BBC Sherlock and HP.
> 
> -The HP characters have for the most part a tangential involvement in the story, in other words, what they do happens off stage for most of the time. Again, this might change slightly as the plot evolves.


End file.
